If I Had A Heart
by gublercullen
Summary: I was trapped, locked between a fear so cold and forceful and a love so penetrating it tore apart my very soul. Never had I imagined that I would be in such a strange situation, captivated by a man that brought tears to my eyes and a tremor to the pit of my stomach. I was in love, terrible, vulnerable love so chilling, so true, yet so very, wholly wrong.Hannibal/OC RatingWillChange
1. Chapter 1

One

Opening the door was the very last thing I wanted to do. I tripped over and danced between discarded bottles and the remnants of last night's casual mysteries in my last attempt to stop the incessant banging and knocking rattling the old, frayed wood. The light from the early afternoon sun blinded me momentarily and I lifted my hand to shield my eyes.

"Agent Ryan, excellent to see your personal situation has improved so drastically since you went on sabbatical," Jack Crawford pushed past me and made his way into the motel room that had turned from temporary accommodation to my very long term living quarters. I took note of the way his eyes met with the presence of discarded clothes and the gentleness of his movement as his toes kicked at the empty bottles.

"Please, come in, make yourself at home, why not," I grumbled with as much sarcasm as I could muster the energy to deliver.

"What's going on with you? You haven't been returning my calls, you've been MIA for almost three months, you disappeared half way through a case. I understand if it was all getting a little too much for you…but this isn't the way to deal with things. Don't you want to get to the bottom of all this?" Jack questioned as he sat himself down, the sofa creaking beneath him.

"How did you find me?" I asked casually, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge of gulping it down, the cool liquid almost painful as it travelled down my sore, dry throat.

"I looked," Jack replied bluntly, "It's not as if you hid your whereabouts exceptionally well."

"Then what took you so long?"

He paused at my question, sighing and pinching with his thumb and forefinger between his eyes, "I wanted to give you a chance to come back on your own terms."

I laughed, immediately regretting the false confidence it portrayed.

"I killed someone, Jack," I sat down on the bed opposite the sofa and stared towards the floor.

"You didn't have another choice, Grace. It's a part of our job – it was you or him."

"But there's a part of me that knew that I didn't have to do it, I didn't have to kill him. I could have got out of that situation without killing anyone, if I'd just taken the time to use my head…if I hadn't so scared, so weak but most importantly if your team had done what they promised they would do. Protect me," I knew that I was rambling, all of the conflict that had been rolling around in my mind was now being spoken out loud. A part of that was a relief, yet still my breath was short, my chest achy and my hands quivering.

"You did not have another choice. You did not," Jack repeated, standing and making his way over to me. I glanced up to see him holding a brown folder out towards me.  
"What is that?" I asked, taking the paper package warily.

"It's the case file for the Kasapin Auteur ," Jack stated somewhat nonchalantly, my eyes shot up to meet his and I frowned.

"There's two things that bother me about this, one, they should have thought of a better name and two…I don't need to read about him, I know everything there is to know about Thaddeus Brimley," I threw the file to the side and stood up.  
"Are you finished or do you want me to go through every tiny, little detail as to why I'm not coming back to work for the FBI?"

"If you read the case file, you'd see that we didn't have a choice, just like you didn't have a choice."

I made a pot of tea, resisting the urge to touch the burning mettle of the teapot as I poured two cups. The sky outside was still bright, late afternoon was approaching but the brilliant glow of the winter sun was still beaming in through the dirtied net curtains. I placed a cup of tea in front of Jack and hovered aimlessly.

"I don't understand why you didn't intervene, I don't understand why you didn't burst through the door and grab him when you had the chance," I was shaking my head and staring down towards the ground as I spoke, yet I could feel Jack's eyes on me.

"You know it's wasn't as simple as that," He replied.

"But it was that simple, I was in there…injured, vulnerable. A one way video connection was nothing to me, Jack, I was there alone with Thaddeus for two weeks…you watched everything the whole time. So why was it that when you finally figured out the location of my whereabouts…you hung around for another two days? Explain that to me, because I'm dying to know."

Jack's face was the picture of sincerity, with just the tiniest pinch of sympathy.

"According to our profile, you weren't going to come to any harm…and we needed to know the location of the other girls. I made a promise to one of the parents, you know that…I had to find her daughter, I know you…I thought you could handle it and I was certain you weren't in any immediate danger." I scoffed, slamming the tea cup down on the table.

"In any immediate danger? Have you seen what I look like, Jack? Have you even looked the photos in that file? This entire case ruined my career, my life!"

Jack covered his mouth and shook his head, he rubbed his eyes closed, as if he were doing anything he could to save himself the trouble of looking in my eyes.

"Can you just tell me why you're here?" I asked quietly. There was a long pause as I waited for Jack to speak, I could feel the haze that anger offered quickly disappearing as I began to feel more and more embarrassed about my outburst.

"Will Graham's back."


	2. Chapter 2

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Two

The rain fell in quick, sharp bursts and collapsed against the car window. I arched my neck from side to side and it cracked audibly, I wanted to leave…drive away and disappear into a routine made up of whiskey and a sofa bed. Instead, I opened the car door and walked through the heavy rain and into the FBI quarters.

I'd only been in the building two minutes before the staring started, paranoia lit at my every nerve as I wondered to myself whether or not every person in this building had read the case file on the Kasapin Auteur . Realisation hit me just as I clambered into the elevator – they would have never needed to read the file, it had been all over the news, in newspapers and spread across television and radio. I tugged at my shirt, feeling ridiculous for thinking I could ever stand being inside these offices ever again. I pulled it off over my head and used it to fan myself, ignoring the other person stood beside me as the numbers lit up one by one.

"You seem nervous," The man said, although his eyes only glanced momentarily behind himself to spot me, I felt like he was examining every move I made.

"I'm not nervous, I'm just alert," I muttered in reply, tying my red hair back into a pony tail in an attempt to cool myself down. The elevator reached my floor and attempted to step out in a hurry, only for my shoulder to bump into the man sharing the lift with me. I laughed apologetically as he urged me to move forward first.

"Sorry, maybe I am nervous," I said light heartedly as we walked at a similar pace down the quiet hallway.

"No apologies necessary, I find the building rather intimidating myself," He replied, despite having been out of action for three months I was already running through a list of identifiable traits in my head. I took note of his strong posture – I analyzed the confidence in his tone of voice and the flair of a foreign accent. This man hid his strength behind an array of dark, expensive suits and professional smiles, he was a scholar, well spoken and appeared sensible and level headed yet clipped and urgent in chitchat. The manner in which he represented himself showed he took pride in everything he took part in, strived to gain control in all scenarios, no matter how blasé he may act in front of others – he took himself very, very seriously. Whilst I had been profiling the gentleman, I had failed to notice that he was headed for the same room that I was. Surprisingly, he seemed confused when I reached for the handle of Jack Crawford's office door. As I had expected, he flinched when I held the door open for him – it was so quick and slight, merely apparent at the corner of his dark eyes and the tip of his fingertips. Control – he needed to have control, needed to keep up with the gentlemanly façade he had built around himself.

Will Graham appeared as fragile as ever, perched on the edge of his chair, his hands clasped in his lap. His eyes widened with surprise when he noticed me and instantly he stood to greet me awkwardly from a distance.

"Grace," He said quietly and all of a sudden I wished I had suffered through the nervous heat in the elevator and kept my shirt on. Because the marks were still red and evident across my arms and chest and Will was searching them with his eyes, examining what was left of me.

"Doctors work wonders these days," I said jokingly, "I don't look too bad when I'm not in shackles," I laughed, instantly regretting it.

"Sorry," I added, moving towards Will and hugging him gently, "I'm nervous, as this guy here has already highlighted." I said, nodding towards the man I had profiled just moments ago.

"This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter, I was hoping he could help ease Will back into the swing of things, make sure he's kept grounded," Jack stated, clearly having already been through this conversation earlier.

"This is Agent Grace Ryan," She's a profiler just returned from leave," He nodded towards me as if my rocky past with the FBI were some secret being kept between us.

"A pleasure to meet you Doctor," My hand wavered in front of me as I offered it to Doctor Lecter, he shook it politely and smiled – tight lipped and falsely honest yet charming all the same, an expression I was certain he had been perfecting for years.

"No offence, I'm sure you're a brilliant Doctor but…if he's here to keep Will in check…why am I here? I take notes, I lie on the floor, I don't understand why he can't do that if he's going to be hanging around Will 24/7."

"I would appreciate it if you people wouldn't talk about me like I'm some basket case, at least wait until I'm out of the room before you argue over who's baby sitting whom," Will argued, his voice strained.

"There is no babysitters, no one is looking after anyone else, I asked Dr Lecter to oversee a few cases," Jack added matter of factly.

"I would hate to be in a position where I'm intruding, Miss Ryan, that is not my intention," Dr Lecter said and I couldn't help but glance at his quickly – I felt as if his eyes were burying into me, judging me…most likely examining me in the same way I was examining him.

I stared at the pictures on the large wooden board, the room was too silent. I placed my hands on the table in front of me and closed my eyes, trying to think…but every little thing that popped into my head was either terrifying or nonsensical. I rested all my weight on my hands, forcing them into the wood in the hope of getting a splinter – a second of pain would be enough to distract me.

"It will get easier," A voice came from behind me, Dr Lecter appeared, balancing three cups of steaming coffee elegantly in his hands.

"What will?" I asked with a frown, taking one of the cups from him and muttering a thank you as I set it down on the table.

"Coming back to work, much the same as Will you just need to settle back into a routine, get back to normal."

I scoffed, rubbing my eyes and sighing, "I'm not sure I know what normal is anymore," I said as I swung around, only just catching sight of Dr Lecter as his arm nudged the coffee I had placed on the table, causing it to cascade over my hand. I let out a yelp as the liquid burned like acid into my skin and caused me to take a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?" Hannibal asked, putting the other two cups down and moving closer to examine my blotchy, red hand, stained and sticky with boiling black coffee.

I snatched my hand back from him and turned around towards the door.  
"I'm fine," I managed to groan as I exited quickly, storming off down the hallway, not pausing as I passed Will.

As soon as I got to a quiet corner of the building I stopped, pulling my hand out in front of my eyes and finally letting out the overwhelming groan that had been bubbling up inside me. I clasped my burnt hand in the other and squeezed as tightly as I could, milking every ounce of pain from the tender skin. The relief caused me to collapse in a heap against the wall, my head lolling back as I breathed heavily in tune with the pulsing in my hand. The moment my eyes were closed, I was back there – bound and abandoned in the cool moist air. Every book they get you to study whilst you're training to become an FBI profiler fails to mention the feeling of being a captive…they fail to discuss what it's like to be the victim. What happens to victims when they are forced back into everyday, normal life? The throbbing in my hand had subsided and so had the relief it had brought, all that was left was a few forced tears running down my cheeks and a build up of shame low down in my abdomen. That shame only became more evident as I realised how badly I wanted the pain back, how badly I needed it to return.


	3. Chapter 3

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Three

The body was cold and lifeless, the girl's face pale and solemn in death. I watched as Will circled the girl's body.

"Whoever tucked Elise Nichols into bed didn't paint this picture," Will stated, his voice slow and shaky. I moved behind the punctured body and lowered myself to the ground, seeing everything from a new angle as my pencil darted and danced across the paper in front of me. I shaded and examined as best I could in bright sunshine.

"There's nothing beautiful in this picture, no respect, no admiration…" I stated, still lying on the dry grass in front of the body. Will moved closer to see from my perspective, Jack following behind him.

"This girl's killer thought she was a pig," Will finalised, glancing swiftly down at the diagram drawn across my paper.

"Are we agreed?" I asked, glancing up towards Will, shielding the sun from my eyes.

He nodded frantically, removing his glasses and scrunching his eyes together tightly, "A different cannibal, a different killer."

"Whoever this is, there's a good chance he'll never kill like this again," I added.

"An intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There'll be no traceable motive, no pattern," Will said as I stood up from my position in the grass, picking up the drawing I had frantically sketched and marking a few notes on the side.

"What do you suggest?" Jack asked, more so out of politeness than anything else.

"You seemed impressed with Dr Lecter's opinion, have him draw up a psychological profile," Will stormed off past Jack, leaving myself to stand awkwardly beside him.

"I was under the impression that drawing up the psychological profile would be my responsibility. I presume I've been demoted since Dr Lecter's arrival?" I asked, glancing at Jack.

"Assume differently, Grace. I would appreciate it if you would work with Dr Lecter in this instance, you might find his input somewhat of an inspiration, I'll take that," Jack took the drawing from my hands.

"What happened to your hand?" Jack added, nodding towards the light beige bandaging. I could see the knowing look in his eyes, the arching of his brow was inquisitive yet suspicious.

"No matter what I tell you, you won't believe me…" I paused, sighing, "But if you must know, I had a disagreement with a cup of hot coffee."

"Take a visit to Dr Lecter's office, see if he has the time to help you draw up a profile." With that, Jack sauntered off as if he was unaware of the insult he'd just delivered to me.

"I don't need help with this, Jack! I'm fine!" I yelled in return, the only thing stopping me from kicking and punching was the fact that there was a chance I'd damage evidence.

My knuckles hit gently against the door of Hannibal Lecter's office, I didn't like to admit when I was hit with nervousness – but in this case, I was certainly on edge. The incident with the cup of coffee could have been a genuine accident but I had trouble believing in anything accidental these days. To me, everything was premeditated.

"Agent Ryan, this is a surprise," Dr Lecter stated, his eyes widening just slightly.

"Jack Crawford urged me to pay you a visit in regards to the copycat case, if you're busy, I don't mind waiting."  
"Of course not, anything I help with specifically?" He asked, stepping aside to allow me to enter his office.

"Just a general profile to report to the team, I'm afraid there's a good chance I've been sent here by Jack purely to be kept out of the way of any serious investigation processes," I paused looking around Hannibal's office "This is incredible," I said, once again I was taking notice of the details – the things in his office were carefully posed, placed to further colour the walls he had built up around his true self. The careful placement of books and statues, sculptures and innocent sketches…this office did not reflect the true Hannibal Lecter.

"Thank you, I take great pride in appearances," He motioned towards one of the large, comfortable looking chairs and I sat down timidly, my discomfort growing.

"If you don't mind me asking, you mentioned that Jack was trying to keep you out of the way…what exactly did you mean by that, Agent?" Hannibal sat opposite me, his leg crossed elegantly over the other and his hands joined in his lap. His posture was strong and balance, it echoed with the effort of rehearsal.

"I thought you were hired to analyze Will…not me," I laughed and much to my relief, Hannibal smiled, if only for a second.

"Force of habit, I'm afraid Miss Ryan." He had discarded the use of the term agent in an attempt to promote his authority, it was a subtle and intelligent move but it didn't go unnoticed. I arched my back against the seat and made the conscious decision not to show Hannibal Lecter any sign of submission.

"Jack asked me to come back to work, I didn't ask him. If he decides to push me out of the investigation, he can do that. This investigation isn't any different to the others, we find the shrike, we don't. We find the copycat or we don't." The words fell from my mouth before my brain had a chance to stop them and I quickly stood from the chair, ignoring the inquisitive frown upon Hannibal's brow.

"Will believes the copycat is unlikely to be caught, a sadist…his killings will be random, untied, the motive is currently unknown so there's no way to tie in other Doe murders. Do you agree?" I asked, using the time to stroll towards Hannibal's desk. Nonchalantly I picked at the papers lying there and took it upon myself to sit in his desk chair, swinging in casual semi circles. The twitch was there again, above his left eye, he cleared his throat and raised his chin slightly – I kept my eyes fixed on his.

"I agree for the most part, yes," He stated, his stare piercing and unrelenting, "I don't think you're giving the copycat enough credit. He knows the shrike, understands him."

"That girl was splayed out there in that field without a shred of dignity of respect – if the copycat understood the shrike…he would leave him a message that was better suited. The copycat is either trying to insult the shrike…or it isn't about him at all. It's about us, about the FBI…about Will," I paused, "That girl in the field wasn't for the shrike, he doesn't understand or respect the shrike, this is merely an opportunity."

I left Hannibal's office with my notepad in hand, filled to the brim with sensibly pinpointed and organised thoughts to examine further. Yet my head was the exact opposite, a muddle of material that would soon make up my nightmares.


	4. Chapter 4

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Four

The dark closed in on me, deep and humid – the warmth was so intense I could hardly breathe. My arms ached but I was too tired to strain against the leather straps as they burned into my wrists.

"What did I do?" I asked, it was as if I was watching myself try to talk – the words were so muffled and distant. The chill of a metal blade on stone caused my entire body to stiffen and I flinched as the blindfold was torn from my eyes.

"Grace Ryan, agent Grace Ryan of the FBI. Confirm your identity for me, Gracie," He said, his grey hair, green eyes and melodic sound of his voice were the only things I could identify him by.

"Agent Grace Ryan, FBI Behavioural Science Unit," I said, my mouth dry and tongue course.

"Occupation within the FBI Behavioural Science Unit, Miss Ryan," He asked again, still busy sharpening a small blade on a piece of flint.

"Forensic interviewer and sketch artist specialising in homicide," I replied, the quietest of whimpers escaping my lips.

"Hey, hey," His leather gloved hand lifted my face to his and he stared deep into my eyes, "Why don't you tell our audience what your job entails, I'm almost certain they are highly intrigued," He enthused, stroking a lock of red hair behind my ear.

"I interview suspects and witnesses," I paused to clear my dry throat and shake the sweat from my eyes, "I draw crime scenes, I analyze them, compare them to past crimes…I, I…I can't," I muttered.

"Tell the gentlemen what you do, please Agent Ryan, this isn't the most professional of behaviour you're displaying," He uttered calmly and I flinched away as he brought the knife closer to my bare abdomen, the skin prickling beneath the point.

"Grace Ryan, this lovely pale skinned, red haired vixen that she is – catches the naughty boys and girls," He smiled, cruelly.

"Thaddeus please," I begged, within seconds of me mentioning his name, the short blade had ran with lightening speed down my skin – the last thing in my vision was the flashing of the red light of the video camera in front of me.

I woke in a sweat, the alarm clock flashing red beside me, my hand instinctively reached for my stomach and my fingertips ran lightly over the patterning of rough scar tissue. My cell phone was ringing, the irritating buzz was caught somewhere in a pair of black work trousers and I scrambled out of bed to grab it.

"What?" I asked, realising the dryness of my throat hadn't just been in my dream. I grabbed the glass of water beside the sofa and drank it down.

"Er…Grace, we've got a lead, we got something back from the piece of pipe threader," Will's nervousness was palpable even over the phone and I immediately felt just a tiny bit guilty for answering the phone so abruptly.

"Yes, sorry, sure, text me the address and I'll meet you there," I hung up and covered my sweat dampened face with my hands. I had to get over this, I had to move on with my life. I had to get back to normal, if I could remember what normal was.

The dirt was dry and creating a cloud of sand coloured dust behind my car as I pulled up to the location. I watched as Hannibal passed boxes of files out of the small portable office building to Will, a middle aged office worker was helping where she could. I watched carefully as Hannibal knocked one box over, causing papers to flutter across the ground. Will moved immediately to help gather the scattered remains of the box, along with the office attendant. Hannibal however, made his way inside the office, alone. I climbed out of my car and walked towards Will, notepad tucked in the pocket of my dark jeans.

"Have you got something for me to do?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun.

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs, a phone number, no address. Every other employee has left an address," Will stated, packing another box into his car.  
"Have you got a computer inside? One that won't take six hours to load an outside database?" I asked the woman who was staring on practically oblivious.

"Yeah, it ain't the fastest but…" She replied, but before she could finish I pushed past her to get inside the office. I came to a halt when I seen Dr Lecter, telephone in hand, a clean, crisp handkerchief wrapped around the receiver as he placed it back on the stand. Our eyes locked for just a second and it was the first time I had noticed just how dark his eyes were and how tall he was – he towered over my 5'3 frame, his shoulders broad but disguised well in the tailored suit he was wearing.  
"If you had a phone call to make you could have borrowed my cell, or Will's…or there's a payphone around the corner, couple miles south," I stated with just a hint of sarcastic humour. His thin lips lifted at the corners into some kind of darkly forbidden smile that I hadn't seen before. For a moment I let him intimidate me, understanding that in this case, perhaps dark humour wasn't the smartest move on my behalf, especially when I didn't know what I was so suspicious of.

"I'll keep that in mind next time, Miss Ryan" Hannibal smiled again, before he walked past me, his arm briefly nudging against mine as he exited. I picked the telephone up, checking the previously dialled number I was greeted with merely a dial tone, whoever he had called – he had made it private.

I followed Will's vehicle closely as we made our way to Garrett Jacob Hobb's family home. There was an uneasy feeling in my stomach, it was causing my entire chest to tighten and strain – but it wasn't about the case. Hannibal Lecter made me nervous, incredibly nervous. There was something I was missing, something about him that just didn't sit right with me.

The Hobb's residence was a typical build for the area, surrounded with forest and grassy planes - a beautiful, solitary place to live. I climbed out of the car but was given no time at all before the peaceful location was stained horribly with terror. Mrs Hobb's clambered out of the front door, collapsing almost instantly on the porch, her hands clasped around her throat as blood pooled on the floor beneath her. I ran, Will was already beside her, his hands covered with her blood. My own vision was clouded, the blood was running so quickly, so smoothly over the wooden porch – dribbling between the cracks. I felt as if I were back there, it was my own throat cut, my own blood, my own death closing my vision in at the sides, leading slowly into the middle and bang. Gone. Dead. Alone. Forever. Will had already moved into the residence, he was calling out for Garrett Jacob Hobb's, it was clear that he was who we had been looking for this entire time…my hands shook as I reached for my cell phone. I called in back up and dropped my phone on the ground. I walked slowly and calmly back to my car, trembling. As I reached for the handle, gunshots rung out from inside the Hobb's residence, sirens were already echoing in the near distance. I got back into my car and sat there, the door closed and my eyes tightly shut. It was ok, someone was dead but it was ok, because it wasn't me. When I opened my eyes again, police cruisers and FBI vehicles were scattered around outside and I was staring right into the ominous irises of Dr Hannibal Lecter.


End file.
